100 Drabbles Challenge 1776
by MCR Lurver
Summary: 100 drabbles about the movie 1776. Slash.
1. Beginnings

**Author's Notes: Yes, I know, I'm a terrible person for wasting my time writing things like this instead of finishing my other stories. Anyway, each chapter will be one drabble, and you can actually expect some updates in a fairly frequent pattern. So, enjoy!**

It was the beginning of a new day. It was the beginning of a new week. It was the beginning of May.

The men rose early this morning – a feeling of anticipation lodged firmly in their minds, as well as in their guts. This was the beginning of something new – something that would bring change to their colonies.

They dressed themselves, taking extra care to make sure that their stockings were not ripped, that their shirts had no stains, that their cravats were tied properly, that their coats had no wrinkles.

The men paced back and forth in their rooms, for it was not yet nine in the morning. They would not meet until ten.

The minutes ticked by slowly. The city was starting to wake. Soon, it, too, would be up and bustling about, in the beginning of a new day – a new day in which to find fortune.

But then men had no need to seek fortune, for they already had it. Yes, they had it, because they were here, weren't they?

They were the beginning that American needed. 


	2. Middles

It was December. The snow fell, fresh and white, over the city.

When the men woke, they no longer rose early or dressed with care. No, they stayed in the warm comfort of their beds for as long as they could.

They no longer wished to be in the city. They no longer wished to be the change that their colonies needed.

The men wanted to be home. They wanted to be with someone during this winter, not alone, shut up in their apartments, with no one to talk to, and only their thoughts for company.

They had been here half a year. And almost nothing had been accomplished.

They hoped that this would be the middle. They prayed that this would not be some cruel extension of the beginning. They wanted to see the end.


	3. Ends

**Author's Notes: Ok, yeah, these might be a little more than a drabble. Anyway, I'm hoping that these read like a broken story instead of little stories thrown together.**

It was July. The sun rose early that morning, casting a brilliant light over the city's docks, bustling streets, crowded marketplaces, and small apartments where the men had been living for more than a year.

The men were up early that morning, the long-lost feeling of anticipation within them once again.

This morning in question was the fourth – the day that all of their laborious work would pay off, but also the day that their next monumental task would begin.

When ten o'clock finally arrived, the men were found gathered outside in the square, standing together – standing tall, as brothers, silently preparing to face whatever would come their way next.

As their declaration was read, its words thundered in the men's heads, and burned themselves into their very souls.

This was the end of life as they knew it. This was the end of British rule. But this was also the beginning of America.


	4. Politics

Let us back up now. Let us go back, to a time between the beginning and the end, and let is have a look at the men, and let us hear their stories:

"I am afraid that Mr. Rutledge will not relent any ground in his argument over the slavery clause," Adams said. "But I intend not to relent any, either. How can we possibly gain freedom from the British crown, and then refuse to give this freedom to a half million people?"

Jefferson remained silent, his eyes fixed somewheres off in the distance.

"And don't even get me started on Pennsylvania," Adams continued. "Mr. Dickinson continues to preach this reconciliation nonsense, and I do fear that Mr. Wilson might actually listen to him one day. Then how are we supposed to win Pennsylvania?"

"Politics," Jefferson muttered.

"Hmm? What was that?" Adams demanded. His companion remained silent. "Well, man, speak!"

"Politics," Jefferson repeated. "Must we always discuss politics?" His eyes snapped back onto Adams, and the other man saw a sadness in them that he had never known Jefferson's eyes to harbor. For once in his life, Adams was speechless.

No, that was not correct. This was the second time. The first had been when Jefferson had kissed him.

"Um… well… what should we discuss, then, sir?" Adams mumbled awkwardly.

Jefferson remained silent for a number of seconds. "Let's discuss us."


	5. Outsides

John Witherspoon moved cautiously towards his window, making sure that he would not cast a shadow onto the curtain. He didn't want anyone to know where he was standing. He wanted more than anything to extinguish his candle, but knew that he needed it to stay lit in order to finish his letter.

Moving very slowly, Witherspoon lifted the corner of the curtain just enough so that he could see into the street below. Sure enough, standing out there in the snow, a figure stood, staring up at his window. The man had been there for two hours – two hours of complete unrest for Witherspoon.

Witherspoon let the curtain drop. He remained still for a few seconds, then he reached for his coat, and headed out the door.

He noted that it was unnaturally cold for December weather as he stepped out into the night. He walked over to the other man.

"Roger, what in Heaven's name are you doing out here?"

"I came to see you, John."

Witherspoon stared at his fellow congressman, and flashed back to a few weeks ago, when they had first met – to the way that Roger had looked at him…

No. He had to stop. Part of his brain was screaming at him, telling him that this was bad, that this was wrong…

But the other part… Well, the other part of his brain felt quite the opposite way.

He knew that he had to choose one.

"It's awfully cold tonight," Witherspoon said, staring into Sherman's eyes. In that second, he knew that he had made his choice.

He reached out and took hold of Sherman's hand. It felt like ice in his. With a small smile flitting across his lips, he led Sherman into the boardinghouse, and closed the door.


	6. Foreign

The spring air was crisp and clean as it filtered through Adams' lungs. The flowers and shrubbery that encompassed his villa's patio were in full bloom.

The French diplomat that was having tea with Jefferson and himself was still jabbering away in broken English, but Adams wasn't listening. Instead, he was watching Jefferson.

When the diplomat finally left, Jefferson shifted into a less formal and more comfortable position in his chair, crossing one of his legs over his other knee and leaning back.

"You find him handsome," Adams grumbled from behind his tea cup.

Jefferson cocked his head at Adams and raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

"Your eyes haven't left him," Adams said.

"By doing that," Jefferson said, "I ensured that your eyes wouldn't leave me."

Adams grumbled something indistinguishable and cast his eyes down.

"He's something new," Jefferson continued. "But..." he paused, causing Adams to look back up at him. "I would much prefer the familiar to foreign."


	7. Known

Edward Rutledge stared across the table at his companion. The tavern was lit with only a few candles, but Rutledge's eyes were sharp and fixed on the man across from him.

"Another drink, doctor?" Rutledge asked in his deep Southern drawl.

"No, no, thank you," Lyman Hall said. He was agitated, playing with the table cloth and avoiding his companion's gaze.

"Are you sure, doctor?" Rutledge asked. "You look like you could use one."

"No, no, thank you, I'm fine," Hall said.

Rutledge made him nervous. There was no other way to say it. And there was no point in beating around the bush any longer.

"Edward," Hall said, lowering his voice and leaning across the table. Rutledge's eyes snapped onto him, interested and playful. Hall gulped. "Edward," he tried again, "I, um… well I don't know – it's…"

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Dr. Hall?" Rutledge said, his lips curling into a smile.

"Yes," Hall said, flustered. "Yes, yes you are."

"Well, I'm sorry," Rutledge said, eyeing Hall like a cat would a mouse. "If I'd known that, I might have brought you somewhere a little more… private."

Hall was sweating now.

Rutledge dug around in his coat pocket and produced a few coins which he placed on the table. Then he stood up. "Come along, doctor," he said, his eyes gleaming despite the dimness of the room.

Hall stood and followed Rutledge out of the tavern. He had decided that he liked feeling nervous after all.


End file.
